


Happy is the Heart that Still Feels Pain

by alienharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Boys In Love, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienharry/pseuds/alienharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Harry doesn't know what to say, how to respond. He's just peed on this boy, who can't be any older than himself, and he didn't even have the sense to apologize. "I," he starts, using his left hand to point at the boy's ankle. "I peed."</i>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <i>Instead of getting angry or looking blankly at Harry for being the idiot he is, the boy laughs, and the sound is beautiful. It has Harry smiling, trying his hardest to distract from the awkward situation he created.</i>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <i>"You did," the boy agrees, pulling his hand from his boxers, where he must've been tucking himself away. Harry tracks the movement. "You didn't even buy me dinner first." </i>
</p><p>--------------------------------------</p><p>The last thing Harry needed was the hot RA helping him to make bad choices. Actually, that wasn't true. The last thing Harry needed was to fall utterly, painfully, <i>stupidly</i> in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy is the Heart that Still Feels Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You to my wonderful beta,   
>  [Ally](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaname)
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Everybody by Ingrid Michaelson  
>  

The first time Harry sees him, it's 3:32 am and he's halfway asleep. Classes don't start for another week, but his body is already on schedule and he's out like a light at 11. He'd been sleeping fully through the night, waking up at 7 in time to run out and grab breakfast for himself and his roommate, Niall. But tonight, he was woken up by his phone pressing insistently and uncomfortably against his bladder, which is ten times more full than it ought to be at this time of night.

He gets out of bed and stumbles towards the door, stopping halfway to collect enough common sense to gather a pair of boxers off the floor and pull them up his legs. He always sleeps naked, and he's just lucky his roommate is easy-going enough that he doesn't have to swerve off his usual way of doing things.

It's eerily quiet in the hallway there's one light won't stop flickering. It would be creepy and probably send Harry back into the safety of his room, but he's not awake enough to register that anything's off. The silence and lighting is the same in the communal bathrooms (if not worse), and Harry just stumbles in and towards the urinal. The door hasn't even shut behind him by the time his boxers are down and his dick is in his hand, relieving himself and leaving his tired body soothed.

But it seems he isn't alone. He's shocked out of his exhausted stupor by a throat clearing next to him. His mind is muddled and his eyes are barely open. The cough was startlingly loud in the silence of the bathroom, and it made Harry jump.

Mid stream.

It nearly happens in slow motion, the last drop of pee landing on a pair of bare feet and ankles. The clear, yellow hue splashes gently against tan skin and despite his haziness, Harry's face flames. It's already the most embarrassing moment in his college life, and he's not even awake enough to react properly.

"Oops."

There's a laugh, choked off like it it wasn't supposed to slip out, and it makes Harry's gaze slide up from the stranger's pee soaked ankle. The boy is wearing black boxers and a white Adidas t-shirt. He's got scruff. And a tiny nose with the bluest eyes in the world. His hair is an absolute mess and he looks positively sinful, standing there, hand in his boxers, smirk on his face. "Hi."

Harry doesn't know what to say, how to respond. He's just peed on this boy, who can't be any older than himself, and he didn't even have the sense to apologize. "I," he starts, using his left hand to point at the boy's ankle. "I peed."

Instead of getting angry or looking blankly at Harry for being the idiot he is, the boy laughs, and the sound is beautiful. It has Harry smiling, trying his hardest to distract from the awkward situation he created.

"You did," the boy agrees, pulling his hand from his boxers, where he must've been tucking himself away. Harry tracks the moment. "You didn't even buy me dinner first."

He looks back up at the stranger's face and tries to think of something clever to respond, something smart with just a hint of something sexual. Instead, he smiles, all doe-eyes and dimples, and looks down at his feet. The boy laughs again and then the sound of his footsteps getting further away echo through the empty bathroom

It's 3:36 in the morning, classes haven't even started yet, Harry's got his dick in his hand, and he's just peed on the most attractive guy he's seen since moving in. Maybe if he goes back to sleep, he'll forget all about it.

⌚

He doesn't forget.

In fact, he remembers quite clearly when he sees him next. It's 4:45 in the afternoon three days later and classes start the next day. All dorm residents are required to attend a meeting to meet the Room Advisor for their hall.

It's crowded in the common room, sweaty freshmen boys littered everywhere yelling about sports and beer, and if he wasn't so used to Niall, Harry would be a bit more annoyed. As it is, the little blonde fireball is off in some corner listing off facts about Guinness and it's origin. The guy he's talking to has no interest, but is at least pretending. Harry doesn't have that kind of strength.

That's why he's off on his own, people watching, and waiting for the damn RA to show up so they could get out of there. It's their last night before classes, and Harry would really like to make sure he has everything he needs. He'd hate to forget spare notebook paper, or pencils, or his fucking book.

His minor panic-attack is cut short by sudden silence in the common room. Up at the front somebody kneels down, digging through an overly disorganized binder. His brown fringe hangs over his face while he pulls out a stack of papers.

He lifts his head up and Harry flushes, the memory flashing through his mind. The boy is not a boy at all, but is, in fact, his room advisor.

Which means not only is he at least 2 years older, but also so completely off limits that it isn't even funny.

Not that that's a problem. Harry's nearly 100% sure that peeing on somebody's ankles kicks you out of their league completely.

"Good morning," he announces from the front of the room, finally standing up. He's wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a black tank top. He looks good, no doubt, but Harry still prefers him with his hand inside his boxers. "My name is Louis Tomlinson, but everybody calls me Tommo. I’m a junior, not much older than you all, and I'll be your Room Advisor this year.

Louis Tomlinson. Room Advisor. A full fucking year.

God help Harry Styles.

⌚

It's 7:00 in the morning and Harry already regrets signing up for Intro to Photography.

Who needs an intro class? It's photography. As if he didn't already know how to operate a camera. And if he didn't, it's not worth waking up so early just to learn.

His alarm's just gone off and he's debating on whether skipping in the second week is smart or not. It probably isn't, but neither was signing up for an intro class at 7:30 in the damn morning.

He gets up and pulls on the same pair of jeans he wore the day before, because he's young, he's fit, and he hasn't done his laundry since arriving. He throws on a plain black t-shirt, which is probably Niall's, but it doesn't really matter.

The kid has been stealing his boots and sunglasses anyway.

He grabs his bag from the chair at the desk and leaves the room.

It should be shocking how few people are in the halls compared to week one, but it really isn't. His older sister, Gemma, was telling him about how in her last week of Economics 305, only four students showed up. He swore he'd never be the kid to skip classes, but then again, it's 7:08 in the morning, he's on his way to a 7:30 intro class and -

And he's just run into Louis Tomlinson.

"Easy there," he chuckles, grabbing Harry's shoulders to steady him. "One might think you're accident prone."

Harry doesn't know how to react. It's only the third time he's seen Louis - second time face-to-face - and he can't stop making a fool out of himself. Louis let's go, and with the loss of contact he can't think of anything that'll keep the conversation going other than. "M'name is Harry."

Louis laughs, looking amused at the simple introduction. "Well I didn't think it was Amy."

His words register in Harry's mind, but he doesn't get it, and he scrunches his eyebrows.

Louis' smile falls a little and he quickly adds, "Because you have bad aim. Because you peed on me that one time." Harry blushes and Louis must notice because he waves his hand and moves on. "Never mind."

"Aim-y," Harry adds belatedly, smiling deep as the joke catches in his head. "That's hilarious."

More than anything, Louis seems charmed by the simple quality of Harry's humor. He looks on fondly for a moment before shaking his head. "Anyway," he begins. "You didn't have to introduce yourself. I already know who you are. Harry Styles, Room 119.

"You looked me up?" A blush paints across his cheeks as he thinks about Louis looking him up after the night in the bathroom, wanting to know his name.

But any positivity deflates when Louis pats his shoulder. "Don't flatter yourself, Freshman. I know all of my tenants." And then he's walking away, leaving Harry embarrassed because not only is he going to be late to class, but there's no way in hell Louis Tomlinson would see him as anything more than the freshman boy who peed on his ankle.

⌚

It's 6:54 in the evening and Harry's classes are out for the weekend. He only has one essay due by Sunday night, but it's already halfway done and about a moment of pride in his life, which basically writes itself.

He and Niall and sitting on their respective beds, tossing an old Nerf football back and forth. Niall's going on about some girls that rejected him in the science building the other day, and Harry's just enjoying the mild buzz he has going.

Niall's just caught the shit throw Harry barely managed when there's a knock at the door. The two stare at each other until Harry eventually sighs and stands up to answer it. Although he instantly regrets all of his life choices when he opens the door and Louis Tomlinson is standing behind it.

“Good evening, boys,” he greets, smiling widely and holding a clipboard. “I’m here for a surprise room inspection.”

The sound of Niall’s body hitting floor sounds from behind him, meaning he’s probably rushing to hide the alcohol they’d spent the night demolishing.

Well, Niall demolished it.

Harry sipped daintily.

Harry’s eyes widen, in an extremely obvious way, and it has Louis squinting his eyes and attempting to peek around Harry’s body.

He’s not sure what Louis sees, but he has a smirk settling lazily across his mouth, so Harry turns around, hoping everything is safe. Instead, he feels his heart drop when he sees Niall, crouching halfway underneath Harry’s bed, 4 beer cans resting next to his knee as he hastily puts them away.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Horan.”

Niall jumps, and bangs his head against the boards of Harry’s bed with a hiss. He goes still and then starts backing up.

Harry wants to make a comment about how natural he is on all fours, but ultimately decides that he’s too drunk and it’s too inappropriate, especially with Room Advisor Louis Tomlinson in his doorway.

“Tommo,” Niall greets, sounding so much more excited than he should be, kneeling on the floor in front of his RA with alcohol in his possession. “Thirsty?”

Harry snorts out a laugh as he holds the beer up, looking as innocent as ever, and Harry should probably be scared as hell, but he’s buzzed and things are looking pretty damn funny right about now. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but Louis looks amused at the gesture as well.

Louis takes a small step into the room and closes the door behind him. He looks around a bit before his eyes settle on the dresser.

He walks over and pulls open the top left drawer, which is where Niall keeps his underwear and socks. After less than 30 seconds of searching, he surfaces with a small bag that Harry distinctly remembers telling Niall not to keep in the room.

“Shit!”

“Niall, you fucking idiot,” Harry hisses, running a hand down his face. His buzz has been effectively killed, as has his future, probably. “I told you not to keep it here.”

Niall huffs, still on the floor, face looking the slightest bit more red than a moment ago. “I didn’t know they would do more than a surface check.”

“It didn’t help that there’s beer out in the open, Niall.”

“Boys, boys,” Louis’ light voice breaks through. “You are aware that the legal drinking age is 21, correct?” Harry’s pulse stops. “And unless one of you has a medical card, so is the possession of marijuana.”

“Tommo,” Niall chuckles nervously, running a hand through the front of his hair. “We can just look past this, right?”

Louis’ eyebrow raises. “Certainly not, Mr. Horan.” Harry cringes. He can see his education flash before his very eyes, and he realizes abruptly that only a month in college isn’t going to look very impressive on job applications. “And to insinuate I would do so is insulting to my professional integrity.”

Niall’s mouth drops open and he starts fervently shaking his head. “I- I didn’t mean - ”

“Whether you meant it or not is beside the point, and I’ll have to put ‘resistance of punishment’ on your write-up.” He jots something down on the clipboard and Harry can physically feel sweat running down his face. “You’ll be on thin ice for the next few months,” he warns them. “That is, if you don’t get expelled.”

The room is silent, save for Harry’s heavy breathing. It feels like the dorm is ten times smaller than usual, with more air and less ventilation. Sweat is prickling at every inch of Harry’s skin, and Niall doesn’t look to be in a much better position.

Louis’ eyes are narrowed at the two boys as the stillness sweeps the room. He continues to look serious for only a few more seconds before crinkles form at the corners of his eyes.

A wide smile sweeps across his face.“I’m fucking with you!” He snorts, smiling widely as he watches Harry and Niall flounder for a reaction.

Harry’s too stunned to feel the relief. “Honestly, you freshmen are so easy.”

“I don’t - ”

“‘Course ya don’t, Styles.” Louis sticks the small bag of weed into his pocket and walks over to Niall, grabbing one of the beers and popping it open with his thumb.

He takes a swig and then grimaces. “This is terrible.” He hands it back to Niall. “Make sure you hide your contraband better next time, boys. Don’t embarrass yourself. Make it a challenge.”

He walks towards the door and Niall asks, “What about my weed?”

“Marijuana is illegal, Mr. Horan.”

He walks out of the room. And despite having only exchanged a maximum of 15 words with his RA, he feels flushed, and confused, and aroused, and there’s something seriously wrong with him.

⌚

The next time he see Louis, It's 11:14 at night and Niall's got a girl in the room. He'd be angrier at his roommate, but the girl was really nice and Niall's not exactly what you would call a ‘Ladies' Man.’

Neither is Harry, but there's a valid excuse for that.

So Harry's sitting outside of the room, scrolling down his timeline, waiting for the two to finish. Harry has no clue how long that could take. Niall’s got some pretty good stamina with his hand, but for all he knows, the boy has no control with actual women, so it could be anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours, and all Harry really wants to do is go to sleep. He’s got a 9 am class and he can’t afford to be up too late.

He’s looking at some article about Disney Princesses and Gender Norms when Louis strolls down the hall, doing his nightly check. One minute Harry’s looking at a picture of Princess Jasmine, and the next he’s seeing a pair of Vans stopped directly between his legs.

“Good evening, Mr. Styles.”

“It’s night,” is the first thing to leave Harry’s mouth.

Louis hums and looks at his phone. “It appears it is,” he agrees. “Past curfew even.” Harry nods along, not realizing that Louis’ hinting at anything. “So what are you doing out of your room?”

“Niall brought a girl back.”

Louis goes silent and Harry’s not sure if he’s gotten Niall in trouble or if he even cares. It’s late, and he’s tired, and Louis Tomlinson always pops up at the worst times. If he’s not peeing on the man, he’s mopey or clumsy or drunk. God, he’s such a mess.

Louis foot gently kicks against the side of his shoe. “C’mon, freshman.” Harry looks up to see Louis turning around and walking down the hall. Confused, Harry stands up, slips his phone in his pocket, and follows Louis down the hall.

They walk in near silence, only the sound of their footsteps and the occasional outburst from a room keeping them company. They keep walking until Louis stops in front of Room 101. He knocks on the door and waits until it opens.

Behind the door is somebody that has Harry dry-swallowing. He looks like Beckham, but sweeter, which is kind of a weak spot for Harry. The guy looks at Louis, and then to Harry, and then back at Louis. “Are there still empty rooms on the third floor, Li?”

The guy, Li, apparently, averts his eyes to Harry and then sighs. “You can’t give away rooms, Tommo. It’s against the code.” Almost immediately, Harry’s attraction is gone.

“It’s just for tonight, and the kid needs a room,” Louis explains.

Harry’s stomach drops at the word ‘kid.’

He’s not a kid, he’s a grown adult. A grown adult, capable of consenting to sex. So hearing Louis degrade him with such a throwaway term hurts more than it hasn’t any right to.

Li just sighs and closes the door.

Harry swears he can hear Louis calling the guy a prick under his breath, but he can’t be sure. They just stand there for a minute, and Harry’s not sure if he should start walking back to his own room just yet. He’a pretty embarrassed that Louis only sees him as the poor freshman with terrible luck, and the fact that it’s being shared with one of Louis’ RA friends really has him sweating.

The door opens back up and Li appears again, not looking like he wants to share any information at all. “108 and 314 are open.”

“Thanks, mate.” Louis briefly claps his hand on Li’s shoulder and they walk off.

The door shuts and Louis groans. “I hate that guy.” Harry doesn’t know what to say. “Liam’s a nice guy and all, but he’s crazy strict about the rules,” he explains. “If he was your RA, you’d already be written-up twice. Once for the alcohol and another for being out past curfew.”

Harry’s a pretty good student. He doesn’t get written-up often - at all, actually - and the threat of being put so close to dorm expulsion just for two simple mess-ups (both entirely Niall’s fault) has him sweating. “So you’re the cool RA?”

“You could say that,” Louis hums, a serene smile stretching across his face.

They continue walking in silence to room 108. Harry’s just happy that he doesn’t have to go up to the third floor. It’s entirely too far to have to commute from in the morning. Especially with his track record of being something less than graceful when he’s still in a sleepy haze.

He also hopes the RA of room 108 won’t mind that Harry sleeps naked. There’s no chance in hell that a room change - thanks, Niall - will ruin Harry’s comfort for the night. Sleeping in clothing - being confined - is the worst torture in the world.

Harry’s thoughts are cut short when they stop in front of room 108 and Louis uses his master key to open the door. The room is a single, with only one bed that’s crammed pretty tightly in there. There are no sheets or blankets or pillows on the bed, it’s stripped bare, but Harry couldn’t possibly care less.

He sighs (grunts) in relief and stumbles into the room, his hands already pulling his shirt off by the collar.

“What are you doing,” Louis’ laughing voice asks from behind him. “There aren’t any blankets in here.”

“I’m exhausted, Louis,” he sighs, pulling the shirt over his head. “I would sleep in the bathroom at this point.”

Louis hums. “I wouldn’t do that, Styles. Somebody might pee on you.”

Harry laughs despite himself and starts reaching for his belt.

“Hey,” Louis says, louder than he should at this time of night in such a small space. “Why do you call me Louis?”

Harry’s raises an eyebrow, hands seizing on the buckle. He’s confused. “Well that’s your name.”

“But everybody calls me Tommo.”

“I - ” he starts, not sure what the correct answer would be. “I’m not sure.” His face is coloring, he can feel it. Red staining his cheeks at being put on the spot. “I- I could call you Tommo, if you want.”

Louis smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t,” he insists. “It wouldn’t sound right from you.”

Harry isn’t sure whether to feel happy or upset at that. Either way, it has Harry smiling half-heartedly.

He is quite sure what he’s supposed to do about his crush on the RA, but it’s getting really hard to ignore lately. Especially when Louis’s dropping his eyes down Harry’s torso - Harry’s naked torso. His hands flex instinctively on his belt buckle with the urge to reach out and touch Louis. Or himself. Either would be nice, really.

“Louis,” he hears himself whining. The older boy snaps his gaze up to Harry’s face, looking confused and a bit wide-eyed. Harry isn’t sure what he wants, he just knows that it’s Louis. And the two aren’t that close together, but he just wants to feel Louis against him. In any way. “Can I kiss you?”

Louis looks down at Harry’s lips like he’s going to say yes, but then every moment since they walked into this stupid room melts off his face and he laughs. “Keep dreaming, Styles. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

With that, he’s out the door and Harry feels like crying. He locks the door and throws himself on the bed, still in his pants, shocked that he’s made such a fool of himself.

He doesn’t sleep well at all that night, despite his early class. He tosses and turns and thinks back to what went wrong with Louis, and why he ever thought he stood a chance. It’s got to be the worst night in the of his college life.

Not only did he embarrass himself for a third time, but it's become more clear now than ever that Louis Tomlinson is totally, completely, off limits.

⌚

He doesn’t see Louis for a while. It’s only a week and a half, but it feels like an eternity. He’s honestly upset that his last exchange with Louis was such an embarrassing show of rejection. Every day that passes without seeing Louis has Harry feeling worse and worse, sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of doubt he’s fallen into.

When he finally does see him - 7:21 in the evening - it’s following a knock on the door and a refusal to answer on Niall’s part. Harry’s been down enough lately and the last thing he needs is to lose an argument with his roommate.

He opens the door and he’s met with Louis and the clipboard again. Holding in his sigh of relief (or annoyance), he smiles blandly. “Evening, Tommo.”

Louis’ brow furrows, looking bemused, and he opens his mouth to say something when Niall slams himself in front of Louis. “Hey, Tommo,” he laughs. “Come on in and see if anything’s wrong.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow and walks slowly into the room. Harry quietly shuts the door behind him before going over to his bed. He takes a seat and watches as Louis observes Niall’s side of the room.

“So I’m looking for anything off?” Louis asks, noting Niall’s head nod. “And it’s on your side of the room.”

“Sure is.”

Harry leans against his headboard and closes his eyes, listening to the ruffling of fabrics and the slams of drawers and cupboards as Louis searches for the little bag of weed Niall is trying to hide from him. In less than 5 minutes, Louis’ searched Niall’s entire side of the room and is huffing.

“I’ll give it to you, Horan,” Louis tells him. The bed squeaks, and Harry glances over as Niall sits downs smugly. “You’ve outdone yourself with this.” His roommate looks proud, but then his face drops, and it must have something to do with wherever Louis’ eyes go.

Harry can’t see, but he’s guessing Louis’ found the bag.

He’s right. Louis leans forward and grabs the baggie out of Niall’s hoodie pocket.

“Shit,” Niall breathes. He looks so shocked that Louis’ found it that Harry starts to laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, bro.” Louis’ laughing too. “You never hide it on yourself. What were you thinking?”

“Well it was on my side of the room.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Louis laughs again, shaking the bag around. “Honestly Styles, train your roommate better.” He grins and then goes to leave the room.

Louis pauses in the doorway, turning around and staring directly at Harry.

He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but must think better of it, and leaves.

⌚

Harry is drunk. It’s Friday... Or Saturday. Yeah, Saturday. It’s 1:14 am, and Harry is obliterated. He’s seeing sounds and hearing smells. The fact that he’s found his way to the communal bathrooms from his dorm room is amazing. Although he must not have been as covert as he thought because as he was walking (stumbling) to his room (the wrong way), a door opens and a disgruntled looking Louis comes storming out.

“Tommo!”

Louis shushes Harry and pulls him into his room, closing the door behind them. “Where did you think you were going?”

“Ooh,” Harry sings, ignoring Louis and toying with his collar as he leans against him for support. “I’m in Louis Tomlinson’s room.”

Louis sighs and tries to get Harry to stand up straight, but Harry  isn’t having any of it. He slumps even further against him. “Tell me, Tommo,” he mumbles quietly. “Is this where all the magic happens?”

“Styles,” Louis sighs, pulling him into a more sturdy position. “You need to lie down.” Harry nods enthusiastically. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Yes,” Harry all but moans at that, and Louis has to close his eyes for a minute. Because, god, it sounds so filthy in Harry’s deep, slow voice.

When he’s gotten himself under control, he helps Harry across the room and lies him down on the bed.

Louis tries to pull the covers over him, but Harry kicks them off petulantly and instead tries stroking his hands over any part of Louis that he can reach. “Louis,” he mumbles, trying to grab onto the collar of Louis’ shirt.

Louis grabs his hands and pushes them back onto own chest, ignoring Harry’s quiet, tantalizing mantra of ‘Louis, Louis, Louis.’ Eventually, Louis’ forced to acknowledge it. “What, Harry?”

“You know what you should do?”

“What’s that?”

“You should touch me.”

Louis’ breath stutters and it has Harry giggling. Harry takes the opportunity to grab Louis’ hand and bring it down his body. Down the path. Harry’s only half hard, a nice, nonpersistent chub that feels like it was meant to be in Louis’ grip.

There’s a moment of paralyzing stillness and then Louis’ hand starts moving, rubbing slow circles over his zipper, occasionally cupping, but mostly circling. It’s the kind of unrushed pleasure that Harry loves when he’s drunk or high. It has him rolling his hips up to meet Louis’ palm, the pressure eliciting slight whimpers and soft gasps. His cock is harder than it had any intention of getting past the third drink of the night.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Louis says. His voice, though quiet, is entirely too loud and devastating in Harry’s position. “This isn’t right, Harry.”

“But it feels so good,” Harry gasps, eyes closing when Louis rubs the tiniest bit harder than before. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

He feels like he could be close soon. Just another minute or so and he could feel that telltale tightening in his abdomen, that building pressure deep in his gut.

But instead of continuing, Louis pulls his hands away, effectively pulling a groan of protest straight from Harry’s throat.

“Louis,” he croaks reaching up to grab Louis’ hand and try to guide back down. “Louis, please.”

“Harry,” Louis tries, murmuring as he pulls his hand away, but it just has Harry whining and going after Louis’ hands and arms and stomach. “I don’t think - Harry.” At the tone, Harry mewls and plants his hand next to his head on the pillow. “Whining is no way to get what you want,” Louis chastises. “And throwing a tantrum isn’t getting you anywhere, baby.”

“But Louis,” Harry tries, rolling his hips into the air, hoping for the friction they both know isn’t coming. “Touch me.”

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he fights back, finding an odd sort of pleasure in the way Harry pouts. “You’re being very pushy. Very ungrateful, Haz.” The nickname comes out of nowhere, but the two boys are too preoccupied to make anything of it.

Harry shakes his head in protest, but Louis shushes him. “I don’t think I’m going to touch you anymore.”

“No!”

“And I don’t think you’re going to touch yourself either.” Harry’s eyes widen at that, and quicker than Louis ever thought possible, tears start welling together in the corners. “Instead,” he continues, doing his best to ignore Harry’s sniffling. He’s about to let himself be guilted into compliance. “Instead, I’m going to flip you over and you’re going to hump the bed; get yourself off like the desperate, needy boy you are.”  

Harry moans loudly, letting Louis roll him over, clenching the sheets in his fists. “Louis,” he pants, rubbing down against the bed immediately, nearly sobbing at the pleasure. The feeling of the mattress pushing against his clothed cock is the relief he needs. The slide is on the rough side, but Louis’ slow tease had him leaking enough to ease the burn.

Noises are flooding out of his mouth, and his hips are aggressively riding against the sheets. It’s like his hands can’t grip enough of the fabric, and everything feels like too much. It doesn’t feel as good as Louis’ weighted palm against him, but it’s something, and knowing that Louis’ watching has his hips stuttering forward with renewed aggression.

“How does it feel?” Louis asks, reveling in the muted gasp Harry breathes in response. “Are you close, baby?” Harry nods and bites into the sheets, not trusting himself to keep his pride if he lets himself talk. “Are you gonna be good and let me see you cum?”

Harry nods again and starts riding the mattress harder, wishing he had something more solid to rub against, something like a pillow, or stuffed animal or a thigh - Louis’ thigh.

“Nnngh,” The thought of riding Louis has Harry’s hips thrusting forward at a breakneck pace as he closes his eyes and sobs into the sheet. He feels himself pulsing into his underwear and holds himself tensely as he rides the high.

When he’s finally come down, he slowly releases each of his muscles, melting into the bed. By the time it’s safe for him to move, he’s already drifting off. He can hear Louis finishing himself off and pouts.

But he’s far too tired to even open his eyes, let alone get Louis off, so he hums contentedly, snuggles further into the mattress, and lets everything fade to black.

⌚

When Harry wakes up, his head is pounding, he’s got a nasty taste in his mouth, and there’s a suspiciously person-sized warmth burrowed against his back.

He’s hungover, clearly.

And he’s in bed with somebody else.

Awesome.

He opens one bleary eye, twisting his torso until he can just barely make out Louis sleeping peacefully behind him.

All of the memories from the night before come flooding back, a tidal wave of shame crashing over him like a tsunami, his hand involuntarily twitching towards his sticky, half-hard cock.

So he does the adult thing

He sneaks out.

⌚

Harry’s not typically the best at avoiding his problems.

But he somehow manages to avoid Louis for a relatively long time.

Well, relatively long when every second feels like an eternity.

It’s 8:38 in the morning, not 24 hours after the absurd fiasco that was ‘Harry sneaking out of Louis’ room in a cloud of shame and despair’ and Harry’s awake, but hasn’t yet gotten out of bed; instead, he’s enjoying the peaceful silence of the room, since Niall’s out doing a project for his Astronomy class. Astrology. Anatomy.

A class.

His peaceful morning comes crashing down to the rhythmic tapping of three harsh knocks on the door. Harry gets up as slowly as time allows, stumbling his way over like a zombie fresh from the grave.

He isn’t surprised to see Louis standing there, frumpy and frowning, but it makes his stomach churn all the same. “Tommo,” he greets with a wry grin, trying to ignore the uncomfortable furrow of Louis’ brow. “How can I help you?”

“I think we need to talk,” he answers, pushing Harry into the room and closing the door gently behind him. Harry rolls his eyes; talking was what he was trying to avoid, but he goes over to his bed anyway and takes a seat.

Louis paces for a minute before turning back to Harry. “You do remember Friday night, right?”

Harry tries to keep a straight face, to come off aloof, like Friday was just a regrettable but all too common mistake all college aged people make at one time or another.

But then he remembers how desperate he looked, making Louis touch him; remembers humping his bed in a drunken stupor so intense that he couldn’t even keep his eyes open; remembers that he snuck out in the morning, not even realizing that Louis was sober and would very clearly remember the night before, and he takes pause.

Instead, Harry blushes, looking down and nodding, but ultimately staying quiet.

“And?”

Louis’ tone is on par with that of a parent or a teacher, and Harry winces. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I didn’t mean to put you in that kind of position. I…”

Louis steps closer, but Harry still steadfastly refuses to look up.

He just wants to forget the whole embarrassing mess happened at all. That he’d been so...needy. But now it’s coming back to haunt him.

Dammit.

The bed next to him dips as Louis sits down. “Harry,” he starts, hesitantly placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry does everything in his power not to, but he jumps anyway. “You didn’t put in me in any position,” Louis explains quietly. “And I’m sorry that you thought you did.”

“Lou - ”

“I took advantage of you, and because you were drunk you think that it was your fault.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You didn’t take advantage of me,” he says quickly, looking up at Louis’ face. “I wanted it. I initiated it.”

“But you were drunk,” Louis continues, with a small shake of his head. “You were drunk, and I’m in a position of power over you. I should’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” Harry points out. Because Louis didn’t. He went with it. They slept together, and Louis wanted it. “You didn’t say no.”

Louis ruffles his hair, looking small and frustrated, and it’s probably the cutest thing Harry’s ever seen. “I should’ve though.”

“Well, do you regret what happened?”

“Professionally, I do,” Louis confesses, staring pointedly at the wall. “Being an RA is keeping my tuition low enough that I don’t have to ask my mom for help. But personally, I…” Louis gnaws his lip. “I don’t think I can.”

And that’s all Harry needs to hear.

Since the very moment he’d first met Louis in the bathrooms, since the very moment he’d laid eyes on those thighs and that hair and that ass, he’d stopped himself from pursuing him for fear of rejection.

But now that he knows Louis wants this, wants him, it completely changes the game.

Every romantic comedy he’s ever seen is dancing circles behind his eyes. Every story of falling in deep, cathartic love despite the odds is burrowing itself deep in Harry’s brain.

Different ways they can keep their relationship hidden, but lively.

How keeping it a secret will keep it hot.

He can feel himself smiling and it’s probably pretty obvious. With caution thrown to the wind, Harry breaths deep, closes his eyes, leans forward, and presses his lips tentatively against Louis’.

Louis doesn’t respond, just sits there, eyes wide and blinking.

Just sits there as Harry captures his bottom lip between his teeth, stoic and unmoving.

Harry pulls away, the joy slipping from his face. “What’s wrong?”

Louis gives Harry a sad smile, a knowing smile, and Harry’s heart absolutely sinks. “We can’t be anything, Harry.”

“What does that mean?” What does any of this mean? Why Louis would tell him he doesn’t regret it, admit his attraction, and then just reject him? It makes absolutely no sense. “I’m Harry, you’re Louis. We don’t have to have a label.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Louis answers tersely. “We aren’t allowed see each other in a more than platonic way. I’m your room advisor.”

“You took pot from Niall,” Harry’s not stupid. He hates this, hates the excuses. “You put me in an extra room when Niall sexiled me. You aren’t exactly a stickler for rules.”

“If we got caught - ”

“We wouldn’t!” His heart is beating like crazy and he can feel sweat beading at his hairline. “Why are you saying no to me?”

“Harry,” Louis tries, but Harry doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want a private recitation of the rules, he doesn’t want a lecture, he just wants a fucking kiss.

“I’m not letting you say no,” Harry says, thrusting out one lip.

Like hell he’s going to give up that easily; he’s finally got Louis right where he wants him, and there’s no force on earth that can make him go back to pinning and making a fool of himself. It was a long road to discovering Louis’ feelings and he can’t do it again.

“You can’t just force me to be with you Harry. Stop being a child! “

Harry’s face goes cold, his body rigid. “Fine,” he snaps, then gestures to the door. “Go, then.”

Louis’ blinks, then walks out of the room, his entire head an amalgamation of Harry, Harry, Harry.

Maybe he’ll just let things go. Maybe this will stop here. Louis hopes it does, at least.

Which is to say;

It doesn’t.

⌚

Nick Grimshaw isn’t anybody particularly special. Not to Harry, anyway. Just a DJ that he met in his Intro to Photography class. He’s a senior, but he started school a year late, so he’s 24, and in a weird way that’s totally sexy.

Clearly it doesn’t both Nick either, because he flirts accordingly. Harry’s always thought of it as nothing more than friendly banter, Grimmy’s getting hot and heavy, and Harry’s not opposed to using that to his advantage.

It’s 10:48 and curfew is rapidly approaching. Honestly, they’re in college and having a curfew is so juvenile  - or so Grimmy says, anyway. Harry’s supposed to be locked tight in his room in less than 12 minutes, but he’s staying out. Breaking the dorm’s rules. On purpose.

Badass.

If he’s being quite honest, he’s hoping Louis will catch him flirting with Grimmy and realise that Harry’s valuable, and that he’s lucky to have him waiting. Though he’d quite like if Louis came to that conclusion without all this work.

Grimmy’s telling him about some difficult-to-find old album he’s been listening to, and ploy or nay, Harry finds him fascinating. He likes the same type of music and always has something relevant to say - something that’s hard to find among the vapid pool of first years he normally hangs out with.

He really enjoys Grimmy’s company, and Intro to Photography is his favorite class, if only because it means making fun of the professor with someone more interested in him than the material. His only problem is that Grimmy clearly wants more, which would be great if it were Louis, but it’s not.

And sure, Harry feels kind of gross for throwing himself at this older guy just at the chance that somebody else could see.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“- They sound like The Kinks, only with talent,” Grimmy’s explaining his setlist for his radio show on the campus station. Harry would normally be hooked on every word like a gangly fish, but right now he’s too occupied with constantly looking down the hall to see if Louis’ coming.

He’s not.

Harry sighs, but reluctantly goes back to listening to Grimmy. He’s still going on about his playlist, and Harry really wants to care, he does. It’s just…

Louis turns around the corner.

Go time.

Louis’ carrying a clipboard, and Harry assumes he just did a few room checks before curfew. In lieu of a greeting, Harry leans heavily against the wall in Grimmy’s space. In a show more fit for a porno that a hallway, he bites his lip and looks up tantalizingly slow through his eyelashes.

He still isn’t listening to a word coming out of the older man’s mouth, and that’s probably all sorts of fucked, but he does recognize the smirk curling across Grimmy’s mouth.

And if it’s fooling him, that must mean -

“Nick!” Harry’s attention snaps back to Louis, who’s appraising them with a toothy grin, clipboard forgotten at his side. “What brings you to student housing?”

“Tommo,” Grimmy chuckles, and Harry’s suddenly so incredibly confused. How do they know each other? “I’m just here to teach young Harold here the art of music.”

Louis laughs, but quickly hides it, his face falling into a practiced mask of disgust. As if the glee dancing in his eyes didn’t give it all away, anyhow. “You’re going to turn him into a dirty hipster, like yourself?”

“Consider it community service.”

They’re technically talking about Harry, but change his name out for anyone else’s and the conversation wouldn’t change an iota. He’d brought Grimmy here to make Louis jealous enough, to help Louis make a move, yet here Grimmy is, taking the attention for himself, leaving Harry sexy and sexless.

“Do the community a service elsewhere and take your terrible music out of earshot. I hear it’s contagious.”

They’re both laughing, Harry most certainly is not, and in an act of desperation befitting an 18th century whore, Harry hums lightly and runs his finger down Grimmy’s forearm.

He notices, obviously, and turns his attention back to Harry. “Sorry, baby.”

He winces a little, but hides it beneath a mask of lust and vague interest. When he looks up again he sees confusion written all over Louis’ face.

“Right,” Louis rasps, voice low and gravelly and… sad? He clears his throat and continues. “Unless you’re staying the night here, you gotta be out by 11.”

Harry goes to answer, but Louis flashes him a look. “Guests are actually supposed to be out by 8, but I know you don’t mean any harm.”

Grimmy laughs and leans down to pick his bag up off of the floor. “I guess I should head out, then.”

“No!” Harry grabs Grimmy’s arm  just as he’s turning to go, and both of the boys look vaguely startled. “I just mean that you can stay the night.”

It’s only to make Louis jealous. Harry can risk a little bit of awkward kissing if it means getting Louis to accept that they should be together.

Grimmy smiles sadly at Harry, and Harry’s own smile sags. “I’d love to, kitten, but I have a show early in morning. I should get back to mine.”

He leaves without another word, planting a kiss on the top of Harry’s head and a palm on Louis’ shoulder.

Then he’s gone.

To say that it’s awkward between Harry and Louis would be an understatement of the gravest sort. Both standing around, waiting for the other to make a move. But then Louis smirks, a dirty, feral smile that has Harry’s stomach dropping. “So you and Nick, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry croaks, mouth dry and chest hollow. “No,” he says, then shakes his head. “I don’t know. He likes me.”

“I’m sure he does.”

And fuck if that doesn’t piss him off.

Instead of making Louis jealous, he’s just ended up looking desperate and undesirable. Next time, his plan has to be more complex than a vague idea and a shit ton of heady eye contact in the hallway.

He has to bring out the possibility of a relationship the same way they got together the first time: sexual tension. And then maybe Louis will finally give in. But for now…

“Curfew, Styles.”

⌚

This time, Harry has a fucking plan.

It starts with him on his bed, slyly rubbing himself through his trousers.

Every time Niall’s back is turned, or his eyes are closed, or he’s focused on the television, his hand is roughly feeling himself up with a hand on his cock or a tweak of his nipples. In fifteen minutes or less Harry’s completely hard, straining the fabric of his trousers, and desperate to be touched.

He’s panting, a thin line of sweat lining where his headband meets his forehead. He could probably get off if he tried hard enough, but he has a plan.

Hard and breathless, he starts bugging Niall about grabbing a snack, or taking a shower, or fucking anything that would get him out of their shared space.

But Niall shrugs him off and refuses to leave, going as far as to throw a pillow at him and tell him just “do it” already.

Aroused and irritated, instead of listening like he normally would, he picks up his phone and dials Louis, telling him that they’re having a fight and they need a mediator.

His voice is wavy and he’s panting softly, still ridiculously turned on by the idea of Louis seeing him so worked up.

It probably sounds like he and Niall are getting physical - and not in the fun way - but maybe that’ll just have Louis rushing over fast.

Not that that’s what he’s planned, but…

Niall’s gone back to his game by the time Louis comes around, probably forgotten about Harry and his need to be alone. Harry’s just kept occupied by teasing himself on his bed, maintaining the kind of erection producers dream of, probably leaking by now, just hoping he wouldn’t lose control to the pleasure.

The knocks come and Harry springs off of his bed, tripping over his own legs to get to the door in a sweaty, panting mess. He opens it and it takes a minute for his eyes to focus on Louis, which is probably not a good sign for keeping himself together long enough to start a fight.  

“You called about a disagreement?”

Harry nods aggressively and smacks his lips together, trying to wet them long enough to talk. But the words won’t come out, especially when Louis’ brow quirks up and his gaze drops down to Harry’s crotch, where he’s shamelessly bulging against the seam.

“You called Tommo?” Niall’s voice comes wafting out from inside, outraged. “Just wank already, Haz. I shouldn’t have to leave.”

“Niall - ”

“Wait,” Louis’ voice is exhausted. His eyes are closed and he looks just about ready to punch both Harry and Niall in their cocks. Nonfunctioning cocks are cocks that don’t need to wank, after all. “This is about sex?”

“No,” Niall fights. “This is about Harry trying to kick me out of my own room -”

“I always give you privacy, Niall!”

Niall opens his mouth to continue arguing, but Louis holds his hand up. It’s late, Louis is ready for bed, and he’s absolutely sick of petty fights between roommates.

This one has to take the cake as the most fucking absurd one yet.

“Niall,” Louis starts, voice calm against the storm in his eyes. “Go back to your game.”

He points to Niall’s controller, and Niall gives Harry one final glare before returning to whatever shite is flashing on his tiny television screen.

“Harry,” Louis calmly intones, turning around to look him dead in the eyes. It’s difficult, with the glazed over look he’s getting in return. “Go take a shower, and get yourself off.”

Harry makes a small, helpless noise, but no move to do as Louis says, only shaking his head.

Louis raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t.” He’s near silent, every bone in his body tense, making it impossible for him to do anything other than shake. “F-fingers.”

Louis echoes uncomprehendingly.“Fingers?” He’s stuck. “What do you mean ‘fingers’?”

Harry shakes his head again. He’s strung so tight, so wound, and having Louis’ attention on him is only making him harder.

“Oh my god,” Niall shouts. “I’m fucking leaving.”

They both whip around. Niall’s game is turned off, the controller resting on the floor where it was thrown in haste. “Disgusting.”

It isn’t until he’s stormed out of the room, backpack and hoodie in hands, that Louis gets it. He gasps in a shallow breath and drops his gaze back down to the front of Harry’s pants. “Harry.”

He doesn’t respond, can’t respond. He’s so embarrassed that Niall’s seen him like this, but it makes it all the more thrilling that somebody’s witnessed how desperate Harry is for Louis.

He reaches his hand down and squeezes himself, just for a fleeting breath of relief. It’s amazing, has him whimpering and squeezing harder, brazenly, as Louis watches.

“L-Louis,” he moans out, eyes fluttering closed. “Please.”

There’s nothing for a moment, no noise, no movement, no reaction.

But then Louis clears his throat, loudly, and Harry opens his eyes. His face is devoid of any pleasure, a placid reflection of tedium and judgement. The red flooding Harry’s face in ecstasy turns into shame (which helps nothing to flag his erection).

“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll be a good boy and stop fucking around.”

Harry’s whimpers, Louis’ bored, casual tone bordering on immoral, and clenches his teeth. If he knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t have gotten himself so worked up, for chrissakes.

Instead of making him irresistible to Louis, he’s only made it impossible for him to try and persuade him into anything beyond a professional relationship.

Louis walks towards him, grabbing his hand and yanking it off of his crotch. “Stop while you’re ahead, Styles.”

Louis strides out of the room at 10:21, and Harry’s hard as a rock. He sobs quietly into his pillow, 3 fingers deep, thinking of the bored look that left him undone in his doorway; the sound of Louis’ high, melodic voice as he called him a good boy.

He doesn’t even realize his plan has failed until he wakes up, sweat-sticky and covered in cum, to the sound of Niall yelling about decency.

⌚

It’s 6:18 in the morning, and Harry’s so, so tired.

He strips down and goes to the communal bathrooms in just a towel, to shower and get ready for classes. But for some reason, the drains of two showers are clogged, and the other three are being used, with each having a line at least 2 boys long.

It’s ridiculous, and way too fucking early.

Harry doesn’t want to stand naked in line waiting for a shower that will probably be cold by the time the water hits his ass. He doesn’t want to stand in line at all, but he needs a shower.

He’s been going to the gym more often - to deal with all the excess energy he’s got floating around - and he may be twice as fit, but he smells half as nice. His twice weekly trips have been bumped to four.

He’s never been more sore, and he’s never smelt worse.

Harry really needs a shower.

He doesn’t realize where he’s walking until he’s knocking on Louis’ door. And dammit, he knows it’s really fucking early, like, really early, but he’s cranky, and just wants to smell less like a sock and more like a flower.

For some reason, Louis is actually awake at this awful hour, but he doesn’t look too happy about it when he opens the door.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Styles?”

And that hurts a bit.

But Harry’s not going to let it faze him.

It’s not even 6:30, and he really just needs to shower. “Two of the drains are clogged and I need a shower.”

“That’s a janitorial issue,” Louis snaps. And next thing he knows, the door is slammed shut in his face.

This wasn’t even a part of the plan, but now he’s embarrassed.

So instead of heading back to the bathroom, he goes to his room and goes back to sleep. Because Harry knows his professors won’t miss him, and he just really needs to sleep the day away.

⌚

Halfway through the semester, all of the tenants are called into a meeting with their RA.

Harry’s floor has a call time for 1:30 in the afternoon, which is aces, because that’s pretty much how late he wakes up nowadays.

Harry shows up right on time, and purposefully picks a seat way in the back.

His crush on Louis is getting…

Overwhelming.

Every time they pass in the hallways, his face runs red with blood and shame. Just knowing that with every intimate, vulnerable moment Harry’s had since starting uni; that every twitch of his cock, every clench in his gut, Louis’ been there, that he still wants wants nothing to do with him -

Well.

At first it was hot, knowing that Louis’ was hard to get, but Harry’s beginning to think that it’s not a play, that maybe Louis used the rules as an excuse; because Louis doesn’t want Harry. Doesn’t want an inch of him.

Maybe he’s straight.

Maybe he’s not, and still doesn’t want him.

Regardless of the reason, Harry’s...undesirable.

Louis starts the meeting a few minutes late - not that it was expected for him to be on time - and brings up every issue in the book.

He talks about Dorm Guidelines, and curfew, and proper bathroom etiquette, and if he makes eye contact with Harry as he’s discussing properly sharing a space with your roommate, Harry does the noble thing and pretends not to notice.

There are only so many different ways to feign interest, and after a while, the difficult becomes the impossible.

So Harry zones out, perhaps falls asleep with his eyes open, staring at a spot on the wall, which - If he looks closely, kind of resembles Steve Buscemi and…Huh.

He only refocuses when the sound of a binder slamming snaps him out of it.

Looking up to the front of the room, Louis’ leaning against the collapsable table, glaring in his direction. Harry can pretend it’s for the stoners from 124 that are just down the row, but he knows better. Plus they’re paying attention, for once, so Harry puts on an apologetic look as Louis goes back to talking about food in the common room.

The meeting goes on for longer than anybody really expects. Louis’ pretty much the chillest RA in the building, and everybody knows that, so the fact that he’s being so serious is pretty out of character.

And just when everybody thinks the meeting is over, Louis starts taking questions.

Harry zones out.

Again.

At least, until a familiar voice piques Harry’s interest. He looks up to see Niall standing.

“I was thinking that maybe we could have a small party in the common room soon,” Niall states, his chest a bit puffed, and a couple of whoops sound. A hand stretches out to tap Niall’s back, and his loud, boisterous laugh is unmistakeable. “We could celebrate the fact that we’ve made it halfway through the semester.”

Harry doesn’t know what’s crawled up his sorely unfucked ass, but before he knows why he’s rolling his eyes and snorting. “A whole 8 weeks,” he comments bitterly. “What a fuckin’ accomplishment.”

It gets eerily quiet after that, and Harry looks up to see Niall frowning at him along with the rest of their floor.

From the front of the room, Louis’ glaring. “This is a safe space, Mr. Styles. Being negative isn’t going to help anybody, and if you aren’t here to be productive, I’d like you to leave.”

When Harry doesn’t immediately make a move, he adds. “Now, Mr. Styles.”

The day’s barely even started, but it’s already been a long one, and Harry’s far too exhausted to fight back. Instead, he lowers his eyes and leaves the room, mopily heading back to his bed.

The day’s barely even started, but it’s already been a long one.

Harry’s giving up on Louis.

⌚

Which is to say, Harry avoids Louis. Successfully.

⌚

It’s been a long three weeks of nothing. Harry leaves for class early and sneaks back in either while Louis’ got classes of his own, or after curfew altogether. Some nights he stays at his sister’s place off campus just to avoid any possibility of seeing the older man. His sister hasn’t questioned him, and it doesn’t look like she’s going to, so Harry’s taking cover while he came.

It’s been a long three weeks of nothing, but it’s easy enough, and despite the inconvenience of having to work his schedule around avoiding Louis, it makes Harry feel the slightest bit better. Sometimes he’ll almost run into the man or hear him down the hall, and it’ll get his heart pumping, but it’s not as bad as it used to be.

Of course that’s when it all comes crashing down.

It’s 1:15 in the morning - way past curfew - and Harry’s just started feeling confident in his pattern. He’s managed to not even cross paths with Louis in 8 days, and they’ve not been in the same vicinity in 4. Harry’s been crashing at his sister’s more frequently, taking cover on her lumpy couch, feeling more like a college kid than ever. Unfortunately, he ran out of clean clothes and had to come back to grab a new handful, along with some detergent.

He’s only wearing sweatpants as he enters the building, afraid to even touch the shirt he’s been wearing repeatedly (he wore it to the gym earlier in the day, and Harry fears that even the deepest bleaching can’t help it). It’s dark, every third light is on, dimmed low in case of an emergency. Nobody’s out of their rooms, not even the occasional adventurer daring to use the bathroom. It’s just Harry…

Clumsy Harry…

It’s late, is the thing. It’s late, and he hasn’t even been in the building in 4 days. He’s used to the short halls of Gemma’s actual apartment. So when he goes to make the turn blindly, he crashes into a wall, head first. And it hurts, yeah, but Harry’s determined not to bring attention to himself. So he stands quickly and sprints down the hall, head throbbing a bit but nothing too bad.

And he almost gets away with it. He’s only one hallway from the alcove where his room is hidden, and it’s beautiful how easy it was. Except it’s not. Because just as he’s passing by, the door to Louis’ room opens.

It’s like a movie, the way the two of them stop and look at each other, both clearly on their way to do something separate. Harry, in only his sweatpants, and Louis, sleep-soft with tired eyes. Neither makes a move, not breathing a beat too long or even blinking. It’s dead silent until Louis’ eyes drop down Harry’s torso and he’s breathing out a tortured “For fucks sake,” and pulling Harry into his room, shutting the door behind him.

It’s a flash of movement after that, hands rushing, a shirt flying, skin on skin, a tug of hair, and Louis’ mouth is on his, bodies flushed together. Harry’s mind hasn’t even caught up with seeing Louis in the hallway, so when it finally hits him that they’re kissing, that Louis’ indulging him, a moan rips it’s way out of his throat, and he’s shoving Louis against his door, hearing the loose wood rattle against the hinges in return.

Harry’s not exactly inexperienced when it comes to sex - he’s been with a few - but he’s young and enthusiastic, and he’s licking into Louis’ mouth like it’s his job, trying to taste every bit of him that he can. He keeps trying to go faster, harsher, but Louis’ lips are slow and calculating, going against Harry’s determined pace to make it gentle. To make it worth doing.

Eventually, Louis’ coaxing works and Harry slows down, positively melting into the other boy, loving how easy it was to give up control and let Louis take the reigns, let him ease the hurry and turn it into something a lot less lust induced.

“Thought your little stunts would work, didn’t you,” Louis breathes once he’s taken his lips off of Harry’s. “Thought you could tease me and then avoid me.” Harry shakes his head, ready to protest, but Louis doesn’t let him, biting Harry’s bottom lip and pulling on it, causing the younger lad to whimper and forget what he was previously going to say.

They go back to kissing and Louis guides Harry backwards slowly, walking him to the bed before lying him down. He’s hovering over Harry, scooting up so they’re completely on the mattress, and Harry’s heart is racing. The last time he was here, he had one of the best drunken orgasms of his life.

Speaking of, he’s been so busy focusing on Louis’ lips on his and the feel of their bodies gliding together, he didn’t realize the effect it had on him, his sweatpants tenting up, a damp spot slowly growing on the front. But best of all is the effect it’s having on Louis, the weight of his cock now persistent on Harry’s thigh, barely moving as Louis trails his lips down Harry’s jaw.

And Harry would be fine with it, lazily making out and rubbing off against each other, but it’s been so long of chasing after the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson, and Harry just really wants to taste his cock.

As Louis’ distracted, sucking a bruise into Harry’s collar, he flips them, putting Louis underneath him as he claims his mouth. Louis’ squeal of surprise only spurs him on, turning the kiss back into the rushed clash of teeth that it was when they’d first started.

At any other time, Harry could spend hours just lazily making out. But now, with Louis finally under him, he’s desperate for something, anything, to happen. And if Louis won’t make the first move, completely content with Harry’s lips on his, then Harry will do it.

He starts by slowly kissing down the boy’s neck, slowly progressing down until Louis catches wind and his hips stutter upwards with a sharp Oh fuck. Harry hides his smirk and rushes down the rest of Louis’ body.

He peels down the other boy’s pants and boxers, marveling at his cock. It isn’t huge by any means, only average, but it’s thick and flushed and so pretty. It’s kind of a general rule that dicks shouldn’t be good looking, but this one…

It really is.

It's been a long three weeks of nothing. But in only sixty minutes, with his mouth and heart full to the brim…

Suddenly, he was everything.

⌚

Things continue like that for a while.

They meet up and fuck around in private. They meet up in between classes and after curfew. One risky trek had them in Liam Payne’s room, Louis blowing Harry against the closet door during dinner time. It nevers goes farther than hands and mouths, marking skin and burning pleasure, but it’s the most sexually fulfilled Harry’s felt since he first discovered orgasms.  

⌚

It’s 9:39 and Harry’s not as drunk as he looks. It’s not even past curfew, and yet, here is is, being yelled at for how “unbelievably plastered” he is. It’s a ridiculous over exaggeration, and even Niall is giggling and how dumb the guy sounds.

It’s Liam Payne, and he’s not even the proper RA to be executing their punishments. Which, if they got technical, a Room Advisor has no jurisdiction if they didn’t get drunk on school property, which they didn’t. They even waited until they were mostly sober to come home. The only problem was the smell of liquor on their clothes and slight stumble to Harry’s already clumsy gait.

So they’re getting yelled at. Being talked down on about the law, and expulsion, and Harry’s honestly so done. He knows that being tipsy without a proper source could do nothing but put a warning on their record, which would probably disappear without other infractions. So he’s giggling with Niall, watching him get red and angry at the freshmen.

Eventually, he stops yelling and sighs, rubbing his hand down his face, stopping to wipe at his eyes. “I’m too tired to deal with this,” he say, sounding wrung out, and that only has Harry laughing harder. “Go see Tommo, so he can deal with you.”

Harry wants to ask what’ll happen if they just go to their room instead, after all, it’s not like he’d know. But going to Louis’ room isn’t exactly something he feels like avoiding anytime soon.

When the boys get to Louis’ room and explain the situation through their giggles, Louis sends Niall away. And Harry’s not sure how it happens, but he pulls him into the room and tells him to strip and lie down on the bed. Harry’s not even drunk, but he sure as hell feels it.

“What am I going to do with you, baby?” Louis’ looking down at him, naked, save for his boxers, and stretched out on the bed. It’s not the first time alcohol has led him to Louis, and it’s not the first Louis’ taken charge like this, but it’s the first time Harry feels completely at mercy.

And he’s really getting off on it.

His cock is hard and leaking on his stomach where it’s peeking out of his boxers. He hasn’t been hard very long, probably sporting up just after Niall went back to his own room and Louis gave him the look. But it doesn’t matter because when he’s with Louis, time doesn’t exist and life feels like it could go on forever.

“You keep breaking rules and you were so mean to poor Liam,” Louis’ lecturing him, still fully dressed, and Harry really shouldn’t be as turned on as he is. “You just keep disappointing me.”

“No!” Harry sits up to protest Louis’ scolding, but just as quickly, Louis is there with a hand to his chest, pushing him back down.

“Be good, Harry.”

Harry whimpers and wonders when his life took a dramatic enough turn that he’s being punished by his sort-of boyfriend for getting kind-of drunk off campus. He’s not complaining, not at all. He’s just wondering, and silently thanking god.

“I think we should just get down to the punishment,” Louis says, noticing the faraway look in his Harry’s eyes and the way his cock won’t flag, not even the slightest bit, possibly even getting harder. “Take off your boxers.”

Instead of staying to watch, Louis turns around and walks away, which is wholly confusing for Harry, but he ignores it to obey the instruction. He takes his underpants off and sets them down near his jeans by the side of the bed. He’s just lying back down when Louis’ returning to the bed.

He’s got something in his fist, and when he sets it down, Harry can clearly see that it’s a condom and lube, and it sparks a guttural moan out of his body. The farthest they’ve gone with fingers is and occasional graze during a blow job, or that time they tried phone sex and Harry got two fingers in before it was game over. So seeing Louis with the lube, ready for punishment, has Harry seeing stars.

Louis strips down. He’s got a steely expression on his face, not faltering once, not even to listen to the steady noises flowing from Harry. If it weren’t for the visible throb of his cock as he approaches the bed, Harry would think he wasn’t interested.

But he really fucking is.

“Why don’t you spread your legs for me, baby?” Louis’ at the foot of the bed, slowly crawling his way up. Harry spreads his legs, letting out a soft sigh as he grips his calves and makes him bend his legs. “Look at how pretty,” he comments, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs.

Harry feels defeated, throwing his head back. He’s looking at him so intimately, and with the alcohol flooding through his veins, everything feels more intense than it should. They’ve not even started, and it’s already game over.

It’s going to be a long night.

The sound of a cap being opened precedes a cold, wet finger against his rim. Harry moans more out of shock than anything else. Louis’ finger isn't even inside him yet, just slowly circling the rim, and it already feels so good. Louis’ sitting on his heels at the end of Harry’s body, one hand gently prodding his hole and the other rubbing intimately into his thigh.

Louis’ index finger is pushing into his hole, feeling thick and determined. Harry moans quietly, fingers gripping the duvet tightly, but otherwise not moving much. He's doing his best to behave because he knows that with him being slightly intoxicated and this being their first time, every moment is fragile.

Louis rests his finger for a minute, letting Harry adjust, but the younger boy cants his hips up, wanting more. Louis slowly glides it in and out a few times before pulling his finger out completely and returning with a second, easing the pair in with such a cautioned speed, Harry doesn’t know if he’s actually moving

He spends the next four minutes opening Harry up at such a pace that has the boy trying to curl in on himself. It’s painstakingly slow, and it has Harry’s cock throbbing against his stomach, needing to be touch, needing to pushed.

“Please,” he pants. “I need more.”

Louis nods, taking out the three fingers he’d worked up to and wiping them off on the duvet, raving internally over the barely audible sigh that he makes from the loss. He grabs the condom and slides it on haphazardly, his hand slipping on the first try. He’s no virgin (they’ve discussed past partners during their late night, post-coital cuddle), but it’s still a stressful situation. Not his absolute first time, but their first time.

Louis slips into Harry with no rush, taking his time as not to hurt the younger man. It’s a tight fit, but they both manage to get through it, with only a little bit of pain. Not that they mind.

“That alright, baby?” Louis asks, placing his left hand next to Harry’s head to hold him up, using the right one to keep a firm grip on Harry’s waist, so he doesn’t get too twitchy in the stillness.

Harry nods and tried to wiggle, but Louis’ grip is too tight, so he groans impatiently. “Move.” Little tremors are already visible in his tummy as he’s trying to keep himself settled. Louis pulls his hips out, feeling the bare drag of his cock against Harry's walls. It's still so early into it and he's still not loosened up; he's still in the first stages of tightness and it nearly has Louis seeing stars. He pulls out until just the head is resting inside, and he holds the position, watching Harry fight the urge to throw himself down, to get the cock back in him.

“Faster,” Harry begs, but Louis stops, doesn’t immediately thrust back in, and watches Harry’s teary eyed reaction to the slow moving. It’s almost adorable how pouty he is when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Louis fucks him slowly, ignoring the sobs and whines and pleads for more and harder and faster. All he can focus on is how close to Harry he feels, the boy beneath him moaning so prettily, opening up and just letting him take him.

When Harry comes, it’s with a silent cry, Louis hand on his cock and his own fisted into his hair. It doesn’t take long for Louis to follow him over the edge, but when he does, he bites onto the younger boy’s shoulder and grunts out his name.

The aftermath isn’t pretty, a used condom not quite making into the garbage, and Harry’s tummy covered by his own spunk. The room smells like alcohol, sweat, and skin, and Harry’s pretty sure he may have pulled a muscle.

So no, the aftermath isn’t pretty. But it’s still the best night of Harry’s life.

⌚

November hits with a torrent of rain and cold weather and sickness. Niall’s gone home for the weekend, leaving Harry alone. It would normally be something to celebrate, but he’s incredibly sick. There’s supposedly a party going on just off campus, and as much as Harry was dying to go, he’s too busy dying in general.

He’s spent his day in bed watching old Friends episodes, praying that if he sneezed hard enough, all the mucus would leave his body and he could finally breathe again. Needless to say, Harry wasn’t feeling particularly sexy. And that’s exactly why he’s been avoiding Louis. They were supposed to meet up after Harry’s 9 am class, but he didn’t go.

To Louis or to class.

He’d feel bad about it, but every word he says is lined with snot and a sense of shame. If he blows his nose one more time, the skin’s going to peel right off, rubbed raw by the shitty tissues he stole from the common room. He didn’t not pay for this quality.

Harry’s debating on whether to click ‘Continue’ on his Netflix when a knock sounds at his door. Harry knows who it the second it occurs. It’s nearly curfew and he hasn’t moved from his bed all day. There’s only a 2% chance that it isn’t Louis, and Harry’s not taking that bet. He yells a congested “Come in!” and watches the door handle turn.

… Maybe they should get a lock.

Louis walks in with a confused frown on his face. Harry doesn’t blame him; he’s dodged his calls all day after skipping out on one of their meetings. But when Louis takes in the used tissues, and the sad sack of a man curled under a comforter, he immediately understands. Without saying anything, he smiles sadly and backs out of the room.

Despite how disgusted Harry feels, and how unattractive he knows he looks, he wants Louis back. He spent the whole day (in)actively avoiding him, but now that he’s seen him at his worst, all he wants is to be cuddled and pet.

He decides to put on an old Disney movie and try to fall asleep. It’s Friday, and he doesn’t have class until Tuesday, but staying up late doesn’t sound like it’d be in his best interest in this condition.

He’s 42 minutes into the movie, and his door handle turns. Harry’s not even close to sleep, but he’s too exhausted to care if it’s a burglar. If there’s somebody here to loot their goods and kill him, Harry’s cool with it. The pounding behind his eyes is enough for him to wish for death.

But it’s not a murderer/burglar/wish granter. It’s Louis, and Harry groans out, rolling his head into his pillow. “Go ‘way!”

Louis’ doesn’t really laugh, just makes a cute huff and closes the door. He stands at the side of Harry’s bed and waits until the boy rolls back over and looks at him. It takes a little, but when he does, Harry’s heart stops.

It doesn’t stop because he’s angry or surprised or excited. It’s stops because it’s 11:16 at night, he’s bedridden in sickness, and Louis’ standing there, soft smile on his face and a container of chicken noodle soup in his hand.

His heart stops because in the darkness of the room, with only the light from his laptop and Louis’ grin, Harry thinks he could love Louis. Maybe not now…

But soon.

⌚

All good things have to end. And all good things for Harry have to end in the worst of ways. It’s 5:32 in the morning, and he woke up on early for a very specific reason. It’s a Saturday, and there’s no way anybody has classes, meaning that he and Louis can fool around in the shower without getting caught.

It’s always been a secret kink of his to be in public, or at least semi-public, and fool around. Louis was kind enough to indulge him, but only under the specific case where nobody else would be awake. And that’s exactly why Harry set a damn alarm just to get naked in the showers with with his kind-of (what are they?) boyfriend.

He’s on his knees with Louis cock halfway down his throat, one hand is clutching harshly at Louis’ thigh, the other is fisting his own dick, hoping the water doesn’t make him lose his grip. Louis’ hands are wound into hair, pulling and guiding him, letting soft sighs and muted moans fall from his lips. But no matter how quiet they try to be, it doesn’t matter when the curtain rips open and Liam Payne is standing there, mouth agape, looking torn between pulling them out of the shower and screaming in horror.

He ends up throwing the curtain shut, but his footsteps don’t sound. Harry pulls off of Louis and stares up at him, eyes wide and unknowing on what to do. He’d considered every possibility of where the relationship could end up, but getting caught shockingly wasn’t one of them.

“Stand up,” Louis croaks. They’ve both gone soft in a frighteningly short amount of time. “I’m in trouble, not you baby.” It still doesn’t make Harry feel better; in fact, it makes it worse, knowing that Louis’ going to be taking the fall.

“Lou-”

“Stand up, Haz.”

Harry stands and the water turns off. Harry wants to talk, wants to do something to make the situation better. He doesn’t know what to say, though. In 30 seconds he went from feeling his best to feeling his worst. Louis should be panicking, but he looks calm, and Harry’s not sure if that should reassure him or make him fear what’s to come.

The boys grab their towels, wrap them around their waist and exit the showers. Liam’s leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He looks like the perfect picture of authority, which shouldn’t be possible for a junior in college, probably majoring in being an uptight douchebag.

“Louis,” he starts, but breaks off to shake his head with a sigh that sounds so fake Harry has to resist rolling his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming, and I’m disappointed that I didn’t.”

Louis exhales audibly and looks down at the ground. “Li-”

Louis’ cut off by the sound of a door outside slamming, making all three of the boys jump. “We should take this elsewhere,” Liam decides. “Why don’t you and-” He cuts out and laughs. “I don’t even know this kid’s name.”

“It’s, um, Harry. Uh, Styles, sir.”

“Um Harry, Uh Styles,” Liam mocks. “Real nice, Tommo.” Harry’s face flames at the assault, but his heart drops when Louis doesn’t say anything, just avoids eye contact. “Why don’t you go to your room, Mr. Styles? Tommo, get changed and meet me in mine. We need to talk.”

He walks out out of the room and Harry feels sick. Louis’ going to be in so much trouble and it’s all his fault. “Louis-” he tries. He doesn’t get to finish, though. Louis’ shaking his head and walking out of the bathroom. “Louis, please.”

“You’re fine, Harry,” he assures, not even taking the time to realize that Harry feels anything but alright.”I’m just gonna go fix this. And everything will be fine.” Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have it in him to question Louis. Louis, who looks so sad, but so determined. He just has to trust him.

So he goes back to his room and gets dressed. He ignores the confused look Niall gives him, and throws on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, too distracted to actually try. He doesn’t know how long he sits in his room before curiosity gets the best of him, but it can’t be long because as he slowly opens his door, he sees Louis rounding the corner.

He follows him on the short walk down to Liam’s room, vaguely remembering the walk from when they fooled around in his room for a laugh. Although, it’s not very funny now that they’ve been caught.

Louis walks into the room and Harry slowly approaches, putting his ear to the door, almost immediately recoiling when the yelling kicks in.

“- you thinking, Tommo?” Liam’s voice kicks out, and Harry can’t stand the thought of Louis having to be yelled at.

“I was thinking that nobody would be awake.” It’s not the right response, according to Liam’s scoff. “What were you even doing in there anyways?”

“I just got back from the gym-”

“At 5 in the morning?” If it wasn’t such a fragile moment, Harry would be laughing at how outraged he sounds, but it is fragile, and a laugh could ruin this whole thing for them.

“Don’t change the fucking subject, Louis,” Liam snaps back. “It’s against the rules to be with a tenant. You’re in a position of power over these boys, man. You’re better than this.” He’s gone from angry to exasperated and his voice is softer now. “What’s so special about him?”

From how light his voice is, Harry doesn’t know if he wants to hear Louis’ reply. It’ll officially establish what they are, and he’s not sure if he wants verification just yet. On one hand, If Louis’ just hooking up with him, he’d rather know before he gets too deep. But if he’s truly into Harry, he wants to move further.

But it’s neither of those things. And by 6:02 in the morning, Harry’s heart is completely broken.  

“It’s not like we’re dating,” Louis starts with. “It was just a stupid mistake and the kid was desperate enough for it.” If he would’ve stopped there, Harry would’ve been fine. He could’ve come to terms with the fact that they’re going nowhere, but he keeps going. “I had a lapse in judgement, Liam. It happens to the best of us. I’d give back any of the time we spent together just to keep this quiet.”

And it is quiet. It’s silent enough to hear a pin drop. It’s silent enough that Harry can hear the tears forming in his eyes. It’s silent.

Until Liam sighs and Harry can feel how commiserative he’s being. “I believe you, Tommo. And I like you, so i won’t write you up.” Harry’s happier than he should be that Louis isn’t getting written up, but even hearing the truth couldn’t stop his feeling for Louis. “But you have to stop seeing the kid.”

“That won’t be a problem,” he reassure, further breaking Harry’s heart. “One mistake isn’t going to fuck up my title, Liam, I swear.”

Harry walks away after that, too upset to continue listening. This isn’t the first time he’s decided to be done with Louis, but it’s the first time it truly sticks.

⌚

He manages to successfully avoid Louis for a while. He cries a lot, not that it’s a surprise; Harry’s always been very emotion. Usually it’s made him desirable and admirable, but now it has him hiding constantly. He’s sleeping on his sister’s couch again, where she doesn’t ask what’s wrong and let’s him mope freely.

He doesn’t got to his classes on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Logically he knows that there’s a very slim chance that he’ll actually run into Louis, but it’s a chance he doesn’t want to take. He’d rather miss a few classes and eat all of his sister’s boxes of macaroni.

It’s a quiet few days, but on Friday, he has to go into class to take an exam worth 40% of his grade. So he stops crying, picks his books up from home, and goes to class.

It’s when he’s on his way home that he nearly bumps into Louis. The boy is talking to Niall just outside of the Student Service Center. He knows Niall sees him, can see the elevation in his eyebrows and the way he immediately starts talking excitedly to Louis. Harry thanks his lucky stars that he has Niall in his life and turns around, taking the long way back to Gemma’s.

⌚

Harry’s home for once. It’s 10:45, and he’s grabbing clothes. He was sure to bring more with him this time around, but even larger numbers run out eventually. Niall’s out with a girl, agreeing to let Harry have the room to look around. But as he’s swapping out the last few outfits, there’s a knock at the door.

And Harry knows exactly who it is.

He contemplates ignoring him, but he knows that he’ll just barge in after three failed knocks. Besides, it’s been a while and he needs to face Louis once and for all. To just end it. He opens the door and Louis looks…

Well, he looks tired. There are bags under his eyes and they don’t have the usual shine that they do. He looks up from his clipboard and smiles sadly, looking back down. But Harry’s face must’ve registered in his head because he’s immediately snapping his gaze back, breathing out a soft Harry.

He doesn’t know how to react; neither of them do. They stand silently, just watching each other, Louis with wonder and Harry, contempt. He’s angry, is the thing. He wasted time and effort pursuing him and ignoring him in such a way to make him desirable to Louis, but in the end, he’s still just a desperate kid that ‘wants it enough.’ And it has him fuming.

Louis’ the first one to react, and it’s with a smile. “I’m so glad I caught you,” is how he starts, looking caught between distraught and starstruck. “You don’t have to hide,” he assures the first year. “I talked with Liam and he’s not writing us up.”

Harry snorts. He can feel the bitterness rising inside. A thousand responses are flooding inside of his head. “I heard,” he settles with. “I’m happy you got your way.”

Louis’ grin dims down, shrinking into a bemused frown. “What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, the urge to strong to resist. The little ticks that are making him look childish are also the ones that are keeping him from crying. They’re keeping him from bawling his eyes out in front of the man that broke his heart.

“I mean that I’m glad you fuck up your precious title,” Harry snaps. “I’m glad that your lapse in judgement and my desperation didn’t screw up your reputation. Tommo.” Louis looks even more confused at the words. There are a few keywords in there straight from the mouth of the man himself, but it doesn’t look like it’s sparking anything. So Harry finishes, “I heard you talking to Liam that day.”

And that brings him to attention. All the ignorance wipes off of his face and it’s replaced with a cloud of regret. “Harry,” he breathes, reaching out to touch Harry’s arm. He dodges the touch and looks away. “You weren’t supposed to hear that-”

“But I did.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

And maybe Harry didn’t. Maybe he misheard the conversation or overlooked a hidden meaning. Maybe he missed the point, but he didn’t miss the way that Louis’ careless words had his heart in shambles.

“I think you should go.” Harry waits for Louis to walk away, but the boy opens his mouth to speak instead. There’s nothing he can say to fix the mess he made, so Harry shuts the door in his face.

It’s the end.

And he’s done.

⌚

Louis comes by but Niall sends him away, and he calls but Harry rejects the calls and deletes the texts without reading. It’s the third time since August that he’s tried avoiding Louis, and he’s gotten to be somewhat of an expert. He’s got their schedules working opposite of each other, and he’s never in his room when Louis could be around. It’s gotten to the point where’s he’s mostly never near the boy. But sometimes he sees Louis, and when he does, he changes route; he may miss a couple classes, but it’s worth it.

It has to be worth it.

⌚

It doesn’t feel worth it.

After a while he stops seeing Louis around. He stops calling and texting and coming by. There hasn’t been a room check in a week, and it’s strange. Harry doesn’t know how to react. He’s been able to stay in his own room with no intrusions from Louis, and it’s not as relaxing as he would’ve assumed. It’s almost like Louis’ given up on him.

Harry deflates. He should’ve seen it coming, but it still hurts.

⌚

It’s 2:55 in the afternoon and Winter Break is starting soon. They have two more until classes end for the semester, and Harry’s looking forward to it. It’s been a messy few weeks and he can’t wait to go back home and spend days upon days in front of the fire listening to his mom sing.

Ever since the day in the showers, college has gotten to be less of an adventure. It’s a drag to force himself out of bed everyday and into class. He;s not saying that he wouldn’t have had fun without previous motivation, but he is saying that once motivation is lost, it’s hard to find inspiration elsewhere.

Harry’s in the student bookstore looking for a title to write an essay on. It has something to do with psychology or psychiatry. Harry doesn’t really know. All he knows is rows up rows of overpriced literature and it’s driving him mad. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, and all of the names being thrown at him are frustrating to no end.

And on top of the cake that is Harry’s Disaster Day™ Harry’s pretty sure he can see Louis over in the School Apparel section. He looks the same as usual, maybe even a little better. Brighter. Although that could be Harry’s mind making things up to torture himself. He can fool himself into think he’s moved on, but seeing Louis in person, smiling, living life freely…

Well it’s clear he hasn’t moved on.

As if he can hear Harry’s inner turmoil, Louis looks up and locks gazes with Harry. Like every other time they’ve made eye contact, Harry can feel his entire body reacting, a pleasant throb of endearment. Harry is so gone for this boy.

Louis smiles at him, which is the first shock. But the real kick in the face is the way that Louis, still grinning, turns back to the sweatshirt he was looking at. He didn’t attempt to speak to Harry or make things better or even look angry.

He looked settled.

And as lovely as it is that Louis’ so chill about everything, Harry feels like shit. Because when he was avoiding Louis, at least there was still a possibility of fixing things, but now that Louis’ done too, it’s really over.

It’s really real.

⌚

It’s 10:34 at night and Harry’s putting the final touches on his essay. He doesn’t even know what he’s writing anymore. The deadline is so close that as long as he has 1500 words, he couldn’t possibly care less about what he sends out. Every word he writes bleeds into the one before it, and there’s no doubt in his mind that it’s the worst work he’s done since kindergarten.

Niall’s fast asleep on his bed. His essays were finished two days ago, and he’s gotten to spend the weekend in peace. Which has been a bitch for Harry to deal with. Niall in general is pretty awful, but nothing’s worse than Niall when he’s smug.

A knock sounds at the door and Harry thinks nothing of it until he realizes the time: nearly curfew. The only person dumb enough to be walking around this late, this close to deadlines, is there for one thing.

Room Checks.

Harry nearly trips over his own feet in the haste to get to the door.

The excitement he feels is almost immediately dashed when he sees it isn’t Louis behind the door. It’s some kid with red hair who smells like weed and looks beyond bored.

“Can I help you?” Harry finds himself asking.

“Hey, bro,” the guy grins. He looks way too laid back for Harry to feel even remotely comfortable. “I’m Ed,” he says. “Your previous room advisor requested a switch in floors, so for the rest of the year, I’ll be your RA.”

His words trickle through Harry’s stunned brain, pounding through him like a bad hangover on a Tuesday morning. “But don’t worry,” the guy, Ed, reassures when he sees Harry’s face. “I’m just as cool as Tommo.”

Ed doesn’t even finish saying Louis’ name before Harry’s pushing him out of the way and stomping his way down towards Liam’s room.

He’s the only one who knows where Louis is, and right now, Harry needs to see him.

He’s livid. Louis’ inspired every emotion under the sun, but he’s never felt anything as extreme as his hatred for every molecule of Louis Tomlinson in this moment.

His blood is pulsing through him like wildfire, and he can feel his footsteps in his neck. Nothing makes sense past the rotten taste in his mouth.

How dare he.

He doesn’t even stop walking when he gets to Liam’s room, just throws himself at the door and starts pounding his fists. Loud banging wholly inappropriate for a war-zone, let alone a late night dormitory.

There’s nothing but silence for a moment, but then there’s a groan and the sound of springs moving.

He woke Liam up.

Good.

Liam opens the door with an aggravated noise and grimace on his handsome face.

Yeah, nice try Liam.

Harry will always be ten times angrier than him.

This is his breaking point.

“Where’s Louis?” Harry’s not wasting time. If he gives himself even a second to think about it, he’ll calm down, and the last thing he wants is to be reasonable. “What room is he in?”

Liam scoffs. “You’re the reason he moved, kid,” he growls, and even though Harry knows it’s the truth, it doesn’t stop him from narrowing his eyes. “Why would I tell you?”

Harry doesn’t know what’s taken over him. He’s been through too much shit to think with even a modicum of reason; Louis needs to explain himself, and this human trash bag isn’t going to stop him.

“Give me,” Harry snarls, and the malice in his voice surprises even him, “his fucking room number!” Harry throws a heavy fist against the flimsy wooden door in for good measure.

Liam levels him with a look, before turning around and walking back into his room. He doesn’t shut the door, which is a good sign, but there’s no force on earth that’ll make Harry follow.

When he returns, he mutters, “314” before slamming the door in Harry’s face.

It’s two floors up, but even with curfew so close, Harry’s taking the stairs three at a time. He doesn’t know what happens between the Liam’s door and Louis’, just lets his feet carry him to room 314.

He feels like a child throwing a tantrum, and maybe he is, but it’s a tantrum worth throwing. Because he’s angry, goddammit. And though he know’s why, and he knows it makes sense, it still feels useless.

And it proves useless when he gets to Louis’ new room.

He knocks, but as he knocks, the anger and the frustration and the anxiety that propelled him from Liam’s room just… fades.

Harry’s just…

Sad.  

“Harry?”

Harry has a million angry things he wanted to say, tucked away in a part of his brain that’s already forgotten them.

He wants to rip through the wall that’s been built between them. To throw his anger and contempt into the ring and tear it down. He wants to fight, he thinks, somewhere deep down.

But instead, all he can do is quietly, brokenly ask, “What did I do wrong?”

Louis doesn’t answer. Just stares on, confused, lip twisted as he watches Harry.

Harry feels his heart detach and fall into the pit of his stomach. “What could I have possibly done to make you hate me so much, Louis? I know I’ve been stupid, but nothing worth - ”

“I don’t - ”

“You changed floors!” his voice is breaking, tears trying to crack through a set of eyes that just won’t leave the floor. He can only hold onto his dignity for so long. “What am I supposed to think when you call me a desperate kid, then change floors to get away from me?”

He knows he’s about to cry, knows he’s about to lose it. He gathers up whatever strength he can, whatever strength is left, to say simply: “What am I supposed to think when you do your best to leave me behind?”

His voice cracks halfway through, and to Harry’s horror, it has Louis smiling. It’s tentative, awkward -  like he doesn’t quite get what’s happening, but he’s smiling a sad smile and it rips Harry’s heart to shreds.

Louis pauses, shakes his head once.

Then, without so much as warm word, he’s kissing Harry.

Their lips touch, warm and gentle and unexpected, and Harry gasps.

Louis chuckles into his mouth, parting only to murmur “Idiot” before he’s leaning back in and claiming Harry for his own.

Harry’s… confused, to put it lightly. Thousands of questions galloping through his head at a breakneck pace, his hands grasping fruitlessly at the air behind Louis.

But he decides not to focus on either of those things, not to focus on the fear, and the uncertainty, and the logic, instead giving all his attention to tasting every goddamn inch of Louis Tomlinson’s mouth.

The last time he got to do this everything came crashing down.

He may as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Louis’ pulls away for air, pinning Harry with a brief, breathlessly fond look before immediately returning to his reddened, battered lips.

This time, Harry lets it last a few moments before pulling back. He dodges Louis’ third attempt, and Louis instead attaches his mouth to Harry’s neck. “What just happened?” Harry breathes, trying desperately hard not to give Louis the satisfaction of a moan.

“I kissed you,” Louis rasps against his skin, his hands running up his back and tangling in his hair.

Harry gasps, small and uncertain. “But you hate me,” he insists.

And Louis laughs. Full and loud and breathless against him.  “I could never hate you,” he says, hand coming round his forehead to push a stray tuft of hair from his eyes. “I kept trying to explain to you that I actually really do like you, Harry.”

Louis ignores the confusion blooming on Harry’s face, trailing his delicate fingers down his jawline. “I only told Liam what I did to get him off my back, yeah?”

And it makes sense. It does. But Harry’s been running the words through his head for a month and it always feels so real. Like there was no way words that meant nothing could hurt so much. He tries to find a reasonable way to explain that, and comes up empty-handed.

“You called me desperate,” he croaks instead.  

“You are desperate,” Louis laughs, appraising Harry’s pout with a gentle smirk. “You’re always desperate for it. But so am I, and that’s why it works.”

Louis moves his hand from Harry’s face, for better or worse, and lets it hang loosely by his side. “I wish you’d never had to hear what I told Liam. Christ, I wish I didn’t have to say it at all, but we weren’t careful, Haz. I had to save us. That was the best way I knew how.”

“Louis,” Harry tries, because he understands, he does. And he hates himself for ever questioning Louis’ intentions. It should’ve been obvious that the words were never meant to be heard by anybody, and the fact that Harry couldn’t sense that is… disappointing. Most of all to himself. “I’ve been really stupid, haven’t I?”

It has Louis laughing, high and airy, and it makes Harry’s heart pitter-patter like raindrops on skylights. Every bone in his body is vibrating, pulsing with nervous optimism. “I have too,” Louis admits, his voice melodic and soft. “But I love you, Haz. I never want to be the reason for your downfall.”  

Harry nod once, then blinks. “You’re in love with me?”

He really should be embarrassed by how bright his smile is.

But he can’t be. Not when Louis wears one to match.

“I don’t see how I couldn’t be.”

⌚

God knows what time it. Because Harry’s in love and nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/sapphicbee) | [Tumblr](http://aceniall.tumblr.com)


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